All The Time In The World is Lying Right Beside Me
by darkmagic-luvr
Summary: Paul&Ivy. She asks him if November hadn’t been a doll, if he wouldn’t be dead already. He asks her to come home with him.


**Title:** All The Time In The World is Lying Right Beside Me  
**Author:** darkmagic-luvr  
**Rating:** FRM  
**Fandom:** Dollhouse  
**Pairing/Character:** Ivy/Paul Ballard, Adelle DeWitt, Topher Brink  
**Disclaimer:**I do not own the characters you see before you. However, any and all original characters are mine, and should not be used without my permission.

* * *

His first week inside the Dollhouse, Paul just observed. He didn't interact, he didn't take orders, he just observed. Mostly he observed from the couch in Topher's lair, ignoring the genius as he makes snide comments and hilarious ones. Paul ignores them because sometimes he doesn't know if the kid's being serious or not and because he doesn't want to encourage him. His silence is all the encouragement Topher needs though, and even though it's completely against his moral compass, Paul's starting to stand the guy. The second week he's on the job the little Asian girl walks into the lair with a bag of groceries that Topher immediately pounces on, running his mouth about fruit roll ups and starches. Paul frowns at her, because she doesn't look like an active with her earrings and striped socks and white lab coat. She rolls her eyes at Topher, who bounds away and out of his lab, leaving the two of them alone. She doesn't see him right away because he's on the level below her, next to the trampoline with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Who are you?" she really must not have expected anyone else to be there because she jumps, her pig tails hitting her in the face. He doesn't smile, but he walks up the stairs and holds out his hand for her to take. "Paul Ballard."

"The Fed?" she asks, she doesn't seem surprised but then again, look where she works and who she works for. Nothing should surprise her. She nods and takes his hand. "Ivy."

"What do you do here?" he asks her because he can't remember Topher talking about anyone named Ivy.

"I'm Topher's slave," she deadpans and it shouldn't be as funny as it is, especially because he's pretty sure she's being serious, but he chuckles anyways. "Are you a new Handler?"

"I'm not sure yet," he shrugs because DeWitt's still mulling it over. And then because he's curious, "What exactly does Topher make you do?"

"Snacks." her tone's so dry and miserable sounding Paul figures he might actually have someone to talk to. Someone who's not going to talk down to him, or rebuff him.

"Anything else?"

"Nope," she shrugs and turns away as Topher walks in, tossing her a bag of potato chips and telling her they need more juice, and that this time he wants something blue flavored. Ivy rolls her and mutters a 'Yes, my liege' giving Paul a 'yeah, this is my job' look.

He doesn't see her the rest of the day. Or the next. But at 10 in the evening he's at a bar nursing a beer and wondering if whisky wouldn't take the edge off when someone drops into the seat next to him. He blinks in surprise because it takes him a moment to realize that it's Ivy and she's out of her lab coat. She's got two glasses in her hand with some amber liquid and set's one down in front of him, pushing his beer across the table.

"I haven't seen you in a few days," Paul comments and Ivy snorts into her glass.

"I'm there when Topher needs me," she shrugs. "I'm not a freaking genius, but I know enough about the Dollhouse to keep it running just as smoothly."

"You probably don't piss as many people off, do you?" she laughs at that and he thinks it's nice. She leans forward across the table as he's relaxing back into his chair and they strike up a conversation. They talk about the Dollhouse, about the Dolls, they make fun of Topher and Boyd but not Adelle, because she's truly frightening. She tells him about the attic. He tells her about his failed marriage. She asks him if November hadn't been a doll, if he wouldn't be dead already. He asks her to come home with him.

She's pressed against his bedroom door, one of her hands fisted in the front of his shirt. He's got one hand curled in the hair at the nape of her neck and his other pressed against the small of her back. His mouth is slanted over hers and her teeth are pressed into his, his tongue trying to gain the advantage over hers. She breathing hard from lack of air and adrenaline and every time she pulls away to take a breath he swallows it, pressing his hips against her and pressing her into the door until she's whimpering around his tongue and the fingers of her left hand are digging into his side. It never becomes to much with her, and he finds himself laughing when she's pinned underneath him, completely naked except for the bracelets on her wrists that glow in the dark and sparkle and light up. One of them even plays Beethoven's 5th.

The nail marks on his back and the song stuck in his head are the only token that they were ever together. She's dry with him, just like she is with everybody else, and he's curt to her, just like he is. Sometimes they wind up at the same bar and drink together and laugh. He learns that she made all of her bracelets herself because she has the time. He tells her that learning November was a doll killed part of him. They always go back to his place, or her place. Sometimes it isn't just for one night and he stays until morning to fix her overcooked breakfast or she sleeps in, snuggled into his chest.

"You like sausage, right?" he calls out. The shower just turned off and he can smell her body soap from in the kitchen. Something flowery that he thinks he can taste. It's a Wednesday, their least busiest day and Topher doesn't need her to run errands. She's got on a forest green bra and matching underwear, draped in his shirt because he's convinced she looks better in it than he does.

"I think you're sucking less at this cooking stuff," she says and he grins.

"I'm glad you think so."

.

Her name is Zulu. She was programmed to fulfill his every whim, nothing sexual or anything, but someone who admired him, appreciated him, envied him. Someone who would do anything for him because she was in love with him. He watches her because sometimes he's just so amazed by his own brilliance that, again, he's fooled Agent Ballard.

Adelle is trying to ignore his presence as he leans across her desk, watching the security feed on her computer, his face expression going from entranced to giddy.

"Watch, watch, watch this," he's back to giddy, propped up on his elbows, making smudges on her monitor. He laughs, because he has a sick sense of humor. Zulu on the monitor smiles at Agent Ballard and he smiles back.

"I'm a genius," he deduces, as if he didn't know it already. "They way they just _clicked_," he snaps his fingers and makes her jump, accidentally jabbing her pen through the stack of papers she was supposed to be going over.

"Yes, Topher, you're a genius," her sarcasms ignored. Topher's off in his own world, staring in open mouthed awe as Agent Ballard pulls her into a kiss. Adelle sighs, looking up from her paper work only to frown. She leans forward, closer to Topher, examining him. "Topher…are you _crying?_"

"With _happiness_," as if that makes all the difference. Adelle sighs, looking away from him and at the monitor. Yes they kept the bugs in Agent Ballard's apartment, she wasn't stupid. He slide her shirt off her shoulders and Adelle's afraid if she doesn't turn off the feed soon, Topher might explode.

"You know he'll hate you when he finds out she's a doll."

"He'll hate you too."

"Yes, well, I can live with that," she waves away the information, at the same time asking him to leave. He looks over at her, but doesn't move to leave, his eyes glittering playfully.

"He's not going to find out."

"How do you know?"

"Because you and I are the only one's who know she's a doll. She'll never find out, he'll never find out. Beside's Zulu's contract is almost up. We'll just make her disappear. Just like the others." she knows he's having too much fun with this scenario, at the prospect of sending Zulu to the attic.

"Well it's not like you used her for anything useful."

"She's totally useful."

"You treat her like a slave," she points out. "You make the conspirators look good."

"I need an assistant."

"She buys you food and dishes out praise. She's a slave."

He waves her off and straightens up. "Who asked your opinion anyways."

Adelle cuts off the feed to Agent Ballard's apartment, ignoring Topher's comment about the good stuff. She makes him leave, telling him that if he doesn't she'll put him in the chair. He bounces out, all smiles and sarcasm, reminding her that she has an appointment with a new client at three. He barely misses the pen aimed for his head before he shuts the door.

Adelle sighs and turns the feed back on, linking her fingers together and resting her chin on them. For now, Zulu was safe. Safe from Topher, from the attic, from the outside world that brought her to the Dollhouse in the first place. For now, Agent Ballard could pretend he had a semi-normal girlfriend, maybe it would teach him a lesson. That no one was who they said they were, that he couldn't ever be who he wanted to be. For now he didn't have to look as hard over his shoulder as he used too.

But just for now.


End file.
